


The Suit

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the events of "Rewind"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Suit

**Author's Note:**

> for robanybody

The suit cost $600 and change – it's not the most expensive suit Jessica owns, or even the one she likes best, but it does the job she needs it to do. She steps into the pants and thinks of Jameson, Whitman, Brodbeck, their smiles of condescension even now; the way they look at her as if she's a science experiment they're willing to indulge until it stops amusing them, an inside joke to which only they know the punchline (it'll come at her expense). They're foolish, she thinks – swaddled, stupidly, in the comfort of their pale, pale, skin, imagining she doesn't have what it takes, what they have, what she needs; unable to understand that she already earns five times their salary, that she'll earn yet more before they've drunk their espresso and dabbed at their mouths with their pocket squares. Idiots, she breathes, and she smoothes a silk camisole over her breasts, shrugs into the jacket that fits almost as it should, reaches for the pearls that will sit at her throat, a light, elegant pressure, the manifestation of a thousand raised eyebrows, double-takes, and open stares. The heels at least feel right – the heels lift her up, let her look down, just as Hawkins and Ballard and Jarvis deserve, Bradley, Jessup, Clifton, and Walker, too.

Jessica glances at her reflection, smiles at what she sees, turns her foot to the right, to the left. In her heels she's the beginning of who she's meant to be, the woman she'll be by afternoon, the managing partner, Daniel gone. It's the last time she'll wear this piece-of-shit suit, the last time she'll acquiesce to the way those bastards want her to look, the lie they want her body to tell. She saunters back to her closet, touches the skirt that hangs on the rail, the blouse she'll wear in twenty-four hours. She's no one's dress-up doll, and those assholes don't know power and prestige. They'll learn, tomorrow, she thinks with satisfaction, and they'll wonder how they didn't see this was always the way it was going to be.


End file.
